


The Mission Briefing 2019: Seventeen Again

by PapaBearAwards



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PapaBearAwards/pseuds/PapaBearAwards
Summary: Colonel Hogan gets knocked on the head and loses his memory. Can the Papa Bear Awards bring it back?





	1. Two Missions

Seated at his radio, Sergeant James Kinchloe watched as his commanding officer and two of his fellow prisoners did their last checks. The three men were dressed in black, armed with pistols, and carrying enough explosives to take down a bridge which, he supposed, was convenient since that was exactly what they were planning to do.

"Another day, another dollar," Colonel Hogan sighed.

"Another bridge falling down," Carter said cheerfully as he readjusted his pack. "Boy, Colonel, you sure sound glum about it."

Hogan just shrugged. "Just doesn't have the same thrill that it use to," he admitted.

"What?!" Carter cried. "How can you say that?"

Newkirk clapped Carter on the shoulder. "Not everyone can share your enthusiasm for explosions, mate. If it were up to me, I'd just as well stay home. You sure you don't want to go instead, Louis?"

Corporal LeBeau shook his head. "Oh no. I went on the last mission. I am looking forward to having an early night. Perhaps I will get a full night's sleep."

Kinch snorted. That would be the day. He wasn't sure any of them had had a full night's sleep since the war started. Certainly not since they took up residence at Stalag 13 and started their sabotage, espionage and traveler's aid operation.

Suddenly, his radio crackled as a message in Morse code started clicking through the air. 

Surprised, Kinch grabbed his headset, a notepad and a pencil and began copying down the message. The others stopped what they were doing and watched him expectantly. When the message stopped, Kinch tore off the sheet of paper from his pad and handed it to Colonel Hogan. 

Hogan looked it over and raised an eyebrow.

"That time again?" he said.

"What time? What is it, Colonel?" LeBeau asked, standing on his tiptoes as he tried to peer at the message.

"The Papa Bear Awards," Hogan said as he handed the message to LeBeau. LeBeau refused to take it, and instead scowled.

"Oh, those."

Carter brightened even more. "The Papa Bear Awards? Oh boy! What's the matter LeBeau? They're great!"  
"Oh oui, they are great. For le colonel and Newkirk. The rest of us? Pah. We never get the good stories."

"Aw c'mon, that's not true," Carter said, although he didn't sound as sure this time.

Kinch just shrugged. LeBeau's complaint wasn't altogether unfounded.

Every few weeks, London sent them a whole bunch of stories to read. These stories were written by authors in another future dimension- a dimension where their escapades were part of a television serial- whatever that was. Kinch wasn't really sure how London obtained the stories- some sort of science fiction mumbo-jumbo. Honestly, he didn't like thinking about it too much; it made his head spin.

Time moved differently in that future dimension. While it was only a few weeks for them, for those authors the Papa Bear Awards had been going on for seventeen years now. They must've read hundreds and hundreds of stories over the "years", and most of them were centered on the charismatic colonel and the dodgy Englishman. Not that Kinch minded too much- he wasn't all that sure he liked the thought of people in the future, in another dimension, writing about him- about his life, his thoughts, his desires.

Colonel Hogan didn't seem to mind too much. In fact, he took an inordinate amount of pleasure in them- strutting like a peacock every time the stories made him out to be the hero he knew he was. He tried to hide it, but there was no fooling his men. The colonel was a genius, and sometimes had an ego to match, and who wouldn't be flattered by a bunch of authors- most of whom were women- fawning all over them?

Of course, there were always a few that cropped up that put him in the worst sort of mood, but thankfully they were few and far between. Kinch had to hand it to those authors- they sure knew what made them tick. It was almost scary.

Anyway, since the stories were about them, London figured the prisoners of Stalag 13 were the best judges, and so the stories were air-dropped to them. It was their job to read them, nominate their favourites, and then vote on the best. This time they would be picking stories from those completed in the author's year 2018.

"When are they arriving?" Newkirk asked the colonel.

"Tonight," Hogan replied. "In about an hour."

"How many?" Carter asked.

"Over two hundred. Too many for Kinch and LeBeau to bring in by themselves."

"I hereby volunteer to help!" Newkirk said as he stepped forward, puffing out his chest and stamping his foot.

Hogan cast a glance at Carter. "We can manage on our own," the sergeant said in answer to Hogan's unspoken question.

"Fine. Newkirk, you, Kinch, and LeBeau go outside the wire and get the packages. Should be at drop point X-17."

"But you're going to miss out on a great explosion, Newkirk," Carter warned.

"I'll bear it best I can," Newkirk sniffed.

"All right, Carter, let's move out. You boys get those stories squared away." Hogan held up a finger. "And no peeking until I get back."

"Scout's honour," Kinch assured him. Hogan seemed satisfied with that and turned to leave. 

"Good luck!" Kinch called after him and Carter. Carter turned a little and waved before disappearing down the tunnel.  
________________________________________

"Blimey, it's a good lot this year if you can go by this," Newkirk said, giving the papers in his hand a little shake. He was sitting at Kinch's radio, his feet propped up on the desk.

"Hey! Le colonel said no peeking!" LeBeau cried as he tried to reach across the desk to grab the papers from Newkirk.

Newkirk held them up and away from LeBeau. "I'm not peeking, mate- I'm reading. There's a bit of a difference."

Kinch dropped his crowbar, abandoning his task of prying open his small crate of stories, and grabbed the papers from Newkirk. "Come on, Newkirk. No peeking means no reading."

Newkirk shrugged and dropped his feet off the desk. "Just getting a jump on them. Blimey, we do have over two hundred."

Kinch clicked his tongue. "Well, I guess when you only read at a fourth grade level," he said with a little smirk, "it takes a while."

"Sod off!" Newkirk growled. "I'll have you know I finished the sixth grade!"

"I was just teasing, Newkirk," Kinch said, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Oh! Here is one about me!" LeBeau said as he grabbed a few papers from the crate at his feet.

"Hey! What did I just say!" Kinch said. "Come on, the colonel and Carter should be back soon, we won't have to wait long."

LeBeau sighed and dropped the papers. "Oh all right. We did hear an explosion not too long ago."

"You two go find something useful to do," Kinch ordered. "Or don't, but go somewhere other than here. I'll come for you when they get back." Though they grumbled a bit, Newkirk and LeBeau did as they were told, climbing up the ladder and up to the barracks.

Kinch looked up at the ceiling and heaved a sigh. Then he took a seat at his radio. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, he grabbed the pages he had confiscated from Newkirk and started reading.

He was so engrossed in the story that he nearly didn't hear footsteps coming up the tunnel. 

Quickly hiding the story, Kinch leaned forward and strained his ears. Whoever it was, they were moving slowly, almost shuffling, and Kinch's heart leapt into his throat. He knew what that meant. He jumped to his feet and started running down the tunnel. He stopped short when he saw Carter approach, carrying Colonel Hogan on his shoulders.

"Carter!" Kinch cried as he raced forward.

Carter puffed out a breath and grabbed the wall to steady himself. "Kinch! The colonel's hurt."

"Come on, let's get him to a cot." Kinch wasn't sure if he should grab the colonel from Carter, or if he was too hurt to move. So instead he grabbed Carter's arm to help him down the tunnel.

"I'm all right, Kinch," Carter said, waving Kinch off. "Just took a little more energy to get down the ladder." He took a breath. "Okay." Carter gingerly shifted the colonel's weight and straightened, following Kinch back to the radio room. There was a cot up against the wall where he gently laid the colonel. "Is he all right?" he asked, biting his lip with worry. "I mean, he was alive before I started back, but I didn't stop to check on the way."

Kinch knelt beside the colonel and looked him over. Colonel Hogan was breathing, but as to the state of his health, he couldn't tell just by looking. "What happened?"

"Bit of debris from the bridge hit him," Carter explained. "I thought we were far enough away, but it was a big explosion. Boy, that new batch I whipped up was the strongest yet! I bet it could take out-"

"Never mind, Carter. Go get Wilson, huh?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Carter hurried away.

Kinch hovered over Hogan and gave him another look. He didn't look hurt. Not a scratch on his body. But upon closer inspection he saw a bit of blood on his shoulder and moved his hand under Hogan's head. When he pulled it away, there was a bit of blood on his fingers. A head injury. Those were always nasty and unpredictable. But Wilson would be a better judge of how bad it was, although the fact that the colonel was out cold and had been for the entire trip back to camp was not a good sign.

The camp medic didn't keep him waiting, and was soon climbing down the ladder, followed closely by Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter.

"It wasn't my fault," Carter was saying indignantly. "Besides, what does it matter? The colonel's hurt, that's what we should be worried about."

"Blimey, I knew I should have gone with you."

"All right, pipe down," Wilson growled as he approached the cot where Colonel Hogan laid. 

"Give me some room there. Shoo."

Kinch stepped back and let Wilson do his job. The four prisoners waited with bated breath as the medic worked. Finally, Wilson stood and snorted, putting his hands on his hips.

"You boys think you're indestructible, don't you," he grumbled.

"Is he okay, Wilson?" Carter asked tentatively.

"Concussion. He's going to have a nasty headache when he wakes up, and we'll have to keep an eye on him, but I think he'll be all right."

"When do you think he'll wake up?" Newkirk asked.

"Not-"

From the cot, Hogan let out a little groan.

"Not long, apparently," Wilson knelt down beside the cot again and pulled at Hogan's eyelid, shining a little flashlight over him. Hogan winced and tried to bat Wilson's hand away.

"Someone get the name of that truck?" Hogan groaned weakly. He tried to sit up, but Wilson held him down.

"Easy there," the medic said gruffly.

"How you feeling, Colonel?" Carter asked anxiously, leaning over Wilson's shoulder to look down at the colonel.

"Colonel?" Hogan repeated. "Where?" He pried open his eyes and looked around uneasily. Then he let out a little breath. "I guess he doesn't even want to talk to me right now."

Kinch and the other exchanged confused looks.

"Who you talking about, guv?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Dad. The Colonel. He's gonna kill me!"

The confused looks were replaced with ones of alarm. "Colonel?"

"Colonel, do you know where you are?" Wilson asked.

"Hmm?" Hogan opened his eyes again and blinked. "Camp infirmary? Oh geez! Liesl! Is she all right?"

"Who's Liesl?" Newkirk asked, but Wilson held up his hand to quiet him.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Wilson said to Colonel Hogan.

"I was driving Liesl home. We had a date. Went to go see The Gold Rush. I… I think we must've had an accident."

Wilson let out a long breath and scratched his head. "Boys, I think we have a problem."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that time of the year again! This is not just the PBA Mission Briefing, this is an answer to a challenge too! (Because that's how I roll!) Challenge #75 The "Where Am I?" Challenge by AnotherJounin: One of our heroes has amnesia and doesn't remember anything that happened after his sixteenth birthday. You must NOT use the phrase "where am I?" in the fic.
> 
> Note: Because this is the 17th annual PBA, the challenge has been slightly altered.


	2. A Possible Solution

It took a while to sort everything out, but when they did, it became clear that Colonel Hogan didn't seem to remember anything after his seventeenth birthday. They ran into even more trouble when they tried to explain when and where he was. Hogan was more than a little skeptical about the whole idea that it was nearly twenty years later than he thought and not only was he in Germany, but in a prisoner of war camp.

It wasn't until they held a mirror up to him that he started to believe.

"Geez, I look just like my old man," Hogan said after the initial shock had worn off. He peered into the mirror and wiped his hand along his jaw. "Heh. I need a shave." He lowered the mirror and looked back and forth between Kinch and Wilson. "This isn't some sort of prank, is it? Did Will set this up?"

"'Fraid not, Colonel," Wilson said apologetically.

Hogan groaned. "Call me Rob, will ya. My dad is Colonel Hogan."

"All right, Rob," Kinch said with a nod. "No, it's not a prank. This is the real deal. We really are in a prisoner of war camp, and you're our commanding officer."

"I can't believe we're fighting the Germans again," Hogan said incredulously.

"Some people never learn," Newkirk said with a sigh.

"Yeah, well, our job here is to help end the war as quickly as possible," Kinch stated. "We're not just prisoners, we run a sabotage unit right here from under the camp. And in order to do what we do, we need you back at the helm."

Hogan shrugged. "I've got no problem with that, Sergeant, but I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do. I don't remember anything about it."

"Say, why don't we just give him another knock on the head," Carter suggested. "Maybe that'll bring everything back!"

"Oh why don't you just be quiet!" LeBeau snapped.

"Easy, LeBeau," Kinch said calmly. "That won't work, Carter."

"That's fine, Kinch, but what are we going to do?" Newkirk asked. "We've got a bloody operation to run and we can't do it with him half out of his head and thinking he's only seventeen."

"I'm right here, you know," Hogan said testily.

"Sorry Guvnor," Newkirk said sheepishly. "I don't suppose you have a suggestion then?"

It was Hogan's turn to look sheepish. "No. Just didn't like you talking about me like I wasn't here."

"We'll just have to wait," Wilson said. "It could clear up in a day or two. Maybe after a good rest."

"And if it does not?" LeBeau asked.

Kinch rubbed his chin, trying to think of a way out of this whole mess. He looked down at the colonel, then to the other men. As he did, his eyes swept past the crates of stories on the ground. 

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. "The Papa Bear Awards."

"The who and the what now Awards?" Hogan asked.

"The Papa Bear Awards!" Kinch repeated, eyes brightening at the idea.

"What about them?" Newkirk asked.

"Look, we've got a whole bunch of stories here about our operation. About us. About who we are and what we do, how we think and how we feel."

"Fiction," LeBeau scoffed.

"Yeah, but some of it is dead on accurate," Kinch said. "I bet if we got the colonel to read some of it, it would jog his memory."

Newkirk didn't look convinced. "Or drive him out of his bleeding mind. I know most of it is right good stuff, but what if he comes across one of them Mary Sues? That'll be no help to him at all."

"All right, all right, so we wait until the end," Kinch said. "We'll read them, nominate the ones we like best, and after they've been voted on, we'll show him the winners."

"Hey, yeah," Carter said brightly. "The winners will be the best stories with the best plots, the best characterizations, the best writing- there's gotta be something in them that'll remind the colonel about what's going on!"

"Blimey, do you really think it'll work?" Newkirk asked.

"It's worth a shot!" Kinch said. Truth was, the only alternative was to sit and wait and hope that Wilson was right and his memory was only temporarily impaired.

"I say we do it," Carter said.

"Oh oui. It cannot hurt, can it?"

"Fine by me, mate," Newkirk said with a shrug. "Course, the colonel might just come to thinking he's a bloody Greek god by the time he gets through them all."

Kinch hid a smile. "All right, it's settled. Newkirk spread the word that the Papa Bear Awards are on. LeBeau, you and Carter get the signs and rules posted."

"Does someone want to explain what's going on?" Hogan huffed, sounding frustrated about being kept in the dark.

"Don't worry, Colonel. Rob. We'll explain everything!"

"Read this," Kinch said as he handed a few sheets of paper to Colonel Hogan, who read them thoroughly.

"Sounds easy enough," Hogan said. "And you really think this will help me get my memory back?"

"Like I said, it's worth a shot," Kinch said with a shrug.

Hogan raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's do it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To find out what Hogan was reading, go to the PBA website to learn all the details about this year's Papa Bear Awards!
> 
> Link: papabearawards2019 (dot) weebly (dot) com
> 
> On the website, read the home page to learn what the PBAs are all about. Check out the FAQs and categories we're are voting on this year. Plus, you will find a list with links to all of the eligible stories. 
> 
> Once you know what stories you want to nominate you can send the nomination form (found on the website) to: papabearawards (at) yahoo (dot) com
> 
> Nomination are due no later than Saturday, February 23rd, 2019 at 23:59:59 Hawaii Time.


	3. Chapter 3

"Now hold still or I'm liable to slit your throat accidental-like," Newkirk ordered. He was standing over Colonel Hogan, acting as barber and giving him a shave.

"I don't see why I gotta do this every day," Hogan groused. He winced as the straight blade came closer and swiped against his cheek.

"Well even here at Stalag 13 we have our pride," Carter said lightly. "You know how the other camps would talk if we had a scruffy commanding officer."

"Ho ho, who thought Colonel Hogan had such a baby face," LeBeau chuckled from his perch on Hogan's top bunk.

"Hey! Being bright-eyed and fresh-faced is part of my charm," Hogan countered.

"I think he said baby-faced," Kinch pointed out.

"Are you done yet?" Hogan asked them all, but more specifically Newkirk.

Newkirk wiped the blade off on the towel on Hogan's shoulder. "All right, off you go," he said with a little swat.

Hogan jumped out of his chair and wiped off the residual shaving cream from his face. Carter tossed him a bottle of aftershave. Hogan patted a bit on his cheeks and let out a whistle. "Whew, that stings."

"Don't be blaming my shave on that," Newkirk warned.

"Oui. You were the one who cut himself to pieces the other day," LeBeau added.

Hogan scowled. "All right, so I haven't had to shave before! I mean, I have. I must have. But I don't remember!" Hogan grunted in frustration. His body may have been old, but as far as his mind was concerned, he was still only seventeen.

A knock on the door caught their attention and a moment later, Sergeant Schultz came in. "Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan sighed and fought the urge to correct him. He was Colonel Hogan, even though he didn't remember. "Yeah?"

"Kommandant Klink wants to see you," Schultz said.

Hogan's eyes widened in surprise. "Me?" It had been a few days since the accident had erased most of his memory, and in that time, he hadn't had to interact with the camp's kommandant. He and the others had hoped his luck would hold out, but apparently it was now coming to an end. "Uh…"

"He said it was urgent," Schultz added.

"Everything is urgent for Klink," LeBeau drawled.

"That may be true, but it is not for me to tell him that," Schultz said. "My job is to bring you to him." Schultz pulled open the door and beckoned Hogan to follow him with a little bow and click of his heels.

Hogan looked nervously between the other men. They looked worried, but none offered to save him. With a sigh, Hogan slunk out the door. He followed Schultz out of the barracks, across the compound and into the Kommandantur. He was about to follow him right into Klink's office when he suddenly stopped, foot raised in the air.

"Hold on, who do we have here?" Hogan put on his most charming smile and leaned against the desk in the ante-office, wiggling his eyebrows at the choice bit of calico sitting behind it. "Hi."

The girl giggled. "Hello, Colonel Hogan."

"Call me Robert. Colonel Hogan is my father." She arched an eyebrow quizzically, but after Hogan increased the wattage of his smile, she giggled again. "Say, what are you doing Friday night?"

She pretended to think for a moment, tapping a finger to her lips before shrugging and shaking her head. "Nothing."

"Well how about we change that? I bet I could liberate a boiler, we could go for a drive…"

"That sounds wonderful."

"May I remind you, Colonel Hogan, that you are a prisoner and Fraulein Helga has important work to do," Klink said impatiently, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

Hogan winced. "Cheese it, it's the cops." He wasn't sure he was ready to face Klink, but the men had assured him he was a weak sister. A maroon. A boob. A pushover. So Hogan straightened up, brushed down his jacket and fired off a salute with a cheeky little grin. "Hiya, Kommandant. You wanted to see me?"

"If it's convenient for you," Klink said through gritted teeth.

"Not particularly. Fraulein Helga and I-"

"Hogan!" Klink said, stomping his foot.

"Geez, what a bluenose. Talk to you later, doll face." Hogan tapped the desk and followed Klink into his office. Almost automatically and without thought, he took off his cap and tossed it onto the spiked helmet on Klink's desk. Klink snorted in frustration, swiped the hat off and threw it back at him. Hogan caught it and put it back out, swiping his finger across the brim.

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?" Hogan asked as he rocked on his heels.

"Yes. I wanted to let you know I know all about it," Klink declared, clasping his hands behind his back as he made his way behind his desk.

"Know about what?" Hogan asked nervously. Was there something important he had forgotten? Besides the last twenty years.

Klink whirled around and smacked his desk. "I know all about the escape!"

Hogan blinked in surprise. "What escape? The guys said that no one escapes Stalag 13."

"And no one does!" Klink confirmed. "But it has been very quiet lately. Too quiet! And that must mean you're planning an escape!"

"Oh. Well we aren't. I mean, we're not supposed to. That is, no one has told me if they're going to escape." He was floundering. He wasn't exactly sure what to say.

Klink pointed a finger at Hogan and narrowed his eyes. "You are planning something, Hogan, I can feel it."

"All right, I'll square with you- we've been reading. I mean, the boys have been reading."

Klink eyed him suspiciously. "Do you expect me to believe that? Just what could be so interesting that could keep your men so quiet?"

"Well, sir…" Hogan coughed. "I think the last shipment from the Red Cross contained some very informative literature."

"What kind of literature?" Klink asked.

"Um, well…" Hogan whistled and outlined a woman.

Klink's face broke out into a goofy grin before he quickly replaced it with a scowl and stomped his foot. "Hogan, that kind of literature is verboten! You will turn it all over immediately!"

"Yes sir," Hogan said with a salute. Turning on his heel, he marched out of Klink's office. He quickly high-tailed it back to his barracks and into his office. He was met with murderous glares. "Uh… hi fellas…" he greeted, keeping one hand on the doorknob in case he had to make a hasty exit.

"Nice going," Newkirk scowled.

"I didn't know what to say!" Hogan cried. "Look, I know Colonel Hogan can wrap Klink around his finger, but I'm just Rob! As far as I remember, the toughest thing I was planning on doing this week was writing a history exam!"

"Sacres chats," LeBeau cursed.

"Well I suppose that could have gone a lot worse," Kinch said flatly. "Better Klink confiscate our magazines than find a tunnel."

"Sure, but I'll kill before they can try to take my Rita Hayworth poster!" Carter cried.

"How long until all those nominations for the PBAs are in?" Newkirk asked. "The sooner we can choose a winner, the sooner we can try to get the Colonel's memory back."

"Oui, and the sooner he can go back to giving Klink the proper run around!" LeBeau added.

"The nominations for the Papa Bear Awards are due February 23rd," Kinch replied.

"And how many nominations have been sent in?" Carter asked.

"About seven, I think," Kinch answered.

"Seven?! Only seven?" Hogan cried. "How do you like that? Doesn't anyone care that I don't remember anything!"

"Calm down, they care, they care," Kinch clucked. "But there are a lot of stories this time around. Everyone just wants to make sure they nominate the best."

"Yeah, all right," Hogan groused, folding his arms petulantly. "But I'm still protesting."

"Your protest is noted," Kinch said. "All right, fellas, let's make sure everyone in camp knows how important these PBAs are. And remember, nominations are due on February 23rd!"


	4. Chapter 4

Colonel Klink tossed his magazine- or rather, one of the prisoners' magazine- aside and pushed himself out of his chair. He glanced out the window and scanned the courtyard. It was still quiet. Too quiet. It had been several days since he had confiscated the prisoners' magazines, and still the silence persisted. Which meant that Colonel Hogan had lied to him. Again. At this point it should not have surprised him.

Speaking of, the American colonel had been acting strangely lately. Normally he couldn't go a day without the colonel barging into his office with a ridiculous complaint. But he had hardly heard a peep from him. Not even during roll call.

Something was wrong. And Klink had just the man to investigate.

_______

The men were busy reading when Sergeant Schultz tried to sneak into the Barracks. Kinch, who was rereading a particularly good story (having already submitted his nominations), looked up and quirked an eyebrow.

"Can we help you, Schultz?"

"Nein," Schultz replied. "Do not pay any attention to me," he continued as he peeked up at Newkirk who scowled and turned away so Schultz couldn't see his papers. "I am not here." He moved to LeBeau's bunk and tried to look at what he was reading. "Just go about your business… of… reading?"

Schultz seemed confused. Perhaps he had expected to find them in the middle of hatching some plot. Or maybe he was surprised that instead of pretending to read in order to divert suspicious from something, the prisoners were genuinely engrossed in their stories.

"Hey, what is this?" he asked, finally coming up behind Carter who was sitting at the table. "Project DOGS? Aha! I knew you were all up to monkey business!"

"Hey!" Carter cried as he crumpled the paper close to his chest. "Didn't your mom ever tell you it was rude to eavesdrop. Or whatever you call reading over someone's shoulder."

"I think you call it reading over someone's shoulder," Newkirk drawled.

Schultz tried to snatch the paper, but Carter twisted away. "Oh, I must report this to Kommandant Klink," Schultz cried.

"Hold it," Kinch said as he slipped in front of the door to block his escape. "It's not what you think it is, Schultz."

"And what is it?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"No!" Schultz replied.

"Aw c'mon, it wouldn't hurt to tell him," Carter said.

"Oui. Perhaps he can help us," LeBeau added.

"I do not want to help you. All I want to do is report this to Kommandant Klink!" Schultz insisted.

"Report what? That we're reading stories for the Papa Bear Awards?" Kinch asked.

"Yes. No. Wait. The Papa Bear Awards? It is that time already?" Schultz knew about the awards but as far as he was concerned the stories were all fictional- a bit of wish fulfilment the prisoners had conjured up to amuse themselves. Harmless. Nothing to worry Klink with, especially when some of the stories rang uncomfortably true.

"It sure is," Kinch confirmed. "That's why we've been so quiet lately."

"Are there any about me?" Schultz asked with hopeful curiosity.

"Tons," Newkirk replied.

Schultz beamed. "Really, let me see."

Kinch stepped away from the door and pulled out his foot locker. He dug through it until he found a suitable story and held it out for Schultz. Schultz was about to take it when Kinch pulled it away.

"What are you going to tell Klink?" he asked.

"I know nothing. Nothing!"

"Sounds about right," Kinch said as he handed over the papers. Schultz grabbed them and smiled with delight.

"I want to take part this year. How many stories are there?" he asked as he skimmed the page.

"Over two hundred," Kinch replied.

Schultz dropped the papers in shock. "Two… hundred?!"

"There were some very dedicated writers this year," Carter said with a shrug.

"And like I said, there are a lot of stories about you," Newkirk said.

Schultz tilted his head from side to side then bent down to gather the pages. "When are the nominations due?"

"February 23rd," Kinch informed him.

Schultz dropped the papers again. "February 23rd?! But that is only-" Schultz paused to count on his fingers- "ten days away! No! Nein. Never mind. I do not want to be part of it this year."

Again Kinch moved to block the door. "Wait a second, Schultz."

"No. It is impossible for a man to read two hundred stories in ten days!"

"Calm yourself," LeBeau soothed. "You do not need to read all the stories in order to participate."

"Sure. If you feel like you can't read them all, just pick one category and nominate something from there. How about the snapshots? Those are short stories under 1,000 words. Even you can get through those!"

Schultz seemed to consider that for a moment. "I don't know."

"Look, start with the snapshots," Kinch suggested. "Then if you have time you can read through the short stories. Any but of participation helps."

"Especially this year!" Carter added.

"Why this year?" Schultz asked. The men exchanged looks before Kinch decided to tell the truth. Schultz wouldn't say anything.

"It's the Colonel," Kinch explained. "He fell out of his bunk and bumped his head. Now he can't rmemeber anything past his seventeenth birthday."

Schultz was stunned. "Really? It is not just some joke?"

"'Fraid not. And we were thinking if we got him to read the winners of the PBAs, it might just jog his memory."

Schultz screwed up his face as he thought about it. "That makes sense," he finally said.

"So you see, we need everyone to help. Even if you just read and nominate from one category, although if you can get through more, that's even better."

"All right, I'll do it," Schultz said. "I will read what I can. When do you need my nominations?"

"February 23rd," Kinch said. "Send in your nominations by February 23rd. Think you can handle it?"

"I do my best," Schultz promised. "But wait. What do I tell Kommandant Klink?"

"You already know the answer to that, mate," Newkirk chimed in.

"I do?"

"Sure you do," Carter said brightly.

"But I don't!" Schultz insisted. "I don't know anything."

"Exactly," Kinch said with a smile. "You know nothing."

"Right! I know nothing! Except that nominations are due February 23rd!"


	5. Chapter 5

Hogan paced his room; arms folded and lip sticking out. It had been nearly a week and his memory hadn't returned yet. All things considered, he felt he had adjusted well to the situation. He knew how to roll with the punches. But it was still terrifying to have a German guard wake him up in the morning, hollering at him to fall out for roll call. And he wasn't exactly thrilled about the armed guards in the towers either.

Other than that, it wasn't too bad. Corporal LeBeau made sure he got at least one meal a day that was made with real food as opposed to the slop the Germans had the nerve to feed them. Actually, LeBeau had been mighty attentive, making sure that he felt comfortable. The Frenchman was a regular mother hen.

Still, it was unnerving to know that nearly twenty years of his life had been wiped out of his memory. Sergeant Kinchloe had promised that the winner of the Papa Bear Awards would help, but Hogan wasn't convinced. And, besides, he was getting really impatient. The nomination round wasn't even over yet.

With a snort, Hogan came to a stop. Well, he wasn't going to just sit around and wait for the nominations to roll in. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

Peeking out into the common room, he saw it was empty. The others were either outside or down in the tunnels. Hogan slid out of his office and scanned the room. Now, where did Sergeant Kinchloe keep those stories?

Drawing on his observations from the past week, Hogan first checked the wood bucket. The pile of wood came off like a lid, revealing a hollow underneath. There were a few papers on the bottom, and Hogan eagerly snatched them. With a frown he realized they were just a bunch of German forms, most of them signed by Kommandant Klink.

Hogan grunted and moved to Sergeant Kinchloe's footlocker, but it was locked. He supposed he could break the lock, but that was a little too obvious. Hogan scrunched his nose and looked around until his eyes fell on Sergeant Carter's bunk.

"Aha." Carter seemed the type to leave important papers lying around. Hogan practically dove into his bunk and rummaged around, checking under the pillow, the paper-thin blanket, and the little shelf on the wall. "Bingo!"

There were only a few papers, but a quick scan told him they were definitely what he was looking for. He stuffed them into his jacket, just as a whirring noise alerted him to another bunk that rose up to reveal the tunnel entrance.

It still amazed him that he was responsible for such a massive, and frankly ludicrous, operation. A sabotage unit right under the Germans' noses? Brilliant. His father would be proud that his habit of eschewing convention had finally been useful.

He was too busy imagining the events that had led up to this assignment that he was still laying in Carter's bunk when his team appeared.

"Um… Colonel?" Carter said hesitantly.

Hogan lazed back in the bunk, looking for all the world like he belonged. "Hey guys."

"What are you doing in my bunk?" Carter asked in confusion.

"Just waiting for you all to get back. I was getting lonesome," Hogan replied nonchalantly.

"Oh well I guess that's better than sitting at the table. And I guess it's too cold to stay outside for too long, but if I had known you were going to choose my bunk, I would have-"

"Carter," Newkirk interrupted, "he's playing you."

Hogan arched an eyebrow and waited for Newkirk to explain further. "What do you mean?" Carter asked.

"What I mean is that I've been a thief my whole life- I know when a man isn't being honest. He's pinched something."

Hogan clicked his tongue. "That sounds mighty cynical of you, Corporal Newkirk. Can't a guy just laze about without being suspected of wrong-doing?"

"Oui," LeBeau piped up defensively. "What would he even want to steal anyway?"

"Stories?" Newkirk suggested.

"Stories?" Hogan repeated innocently.

"Come off it, mate. You've been itching to get a hold of one of these stories all week," Newkirk said matter-of-factly.

Hogan sighed. "All right, fine! But why do I have to wait? Why can't I just read them all now? What can it hurt?"

"It can't hurt, per se, " Kinch said slowly. "All the authors do a fantastic job and most of their stories are right on the money. But we want to make sure you get the best of the best. The stories with the best portrayals of us, the best plots, the best quotes. That way you can get the best experience with the least amount of effort on your part."

"Well waiting is taking a lot of effort," Hogan grumbled sourly.

"There are only two days before the nominations are due," LeBeau said. "And then it will not belong before we have all voted."

"Two days?" Hogan repeated.

"Yep," Carter said brightly. "Nominations are due on February 23rd. As long as it's February 23rd somewhere in the world, nominations can still be sent in."

Hogan sighed. "Well, I guess I can wait a little longer. I wouldn't mind reading the best of the best. When I get my memory back, I can always go and read the rest of them."

"Exactly." Kinch held out his hand and Hogan grudgingly handed over the papers. Kinch folded them up and tucked them into his pocket. "Carter, Newkirk, LeBeau, spread the word. Make sure everyone knows that nominations are due February 23rd. That's three days from now. If anyone hasn't finished all the eligible stories, that's okay- they can read what they can and nominate from those. The more nominations we get, the better this year's PBAs can be!"


	6. Chapter 6

Deep in the tunnels, Carter, LeBeau and Newkirk gathered around Kinch's desk. The deadline for the Papa Bear Awards nominations had finally passed, and the men were eager to see the results.

"Boy, I can't wait to see what everyone else nominated!" Carter said enthusiastically. "I think I picked the best ones, but I would have nominated a lot more if I could have!"

"Oui, oui, there were many good stories. And I am sure whichever ones end up winning will help the colonel regain his memory," LeBeau said with a quick nod.

"I bloody well hope so. We've been lucky that nothing big has come up in the last week, otherwise we might be up the blooming creek," Newkirk said as he rifled through the papers.

Kinch batted his hand away and grabbed the stack, tapping it against his desk to straighten it before he leafed through it himself.

"All right, I've organized them into categories already," Kinch said. He grabbed the first page and set the others down. "Drum roll, please."

Carter tapped rapidly on Kinch's desk. "Shame the colonel isn't here. He could give a great drum roll on his kettle drums!"

At this, Newkirk rolled his eyes. Ever since the colonel had lost his memory, he had kept himself busy and distracted with some of the pastimes of his youth- among them, his interest in playing the drums. "I'm 'bout ready to shove his drum sticks up where-"

"Ahem!" Kinch interrupted. "Thanks for the drum roll, Carter. And here they are: the nominated stories," he said as he showed the others the papers.

"Blimey!" Newkirk exclaimed.

LeBeau let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of stories!"

"Well there were a lot to choose from!" Carter replied. " I can't wait to show them to the Colonel!"

"Hold your horses there, Carter; we still need to vote on them," Kinch said calmly.

Carter snapped his fingers. "I forgot!"

"All these stories are great to be sure, but we've got to make sure the colonel reads the best of the best!" Newkirk added.

"Right. We've narrowed over 200 stories down to the best. Now we need to vote on them," Kinch said.

"Right, right," Carter said absently. There was a moment's pause before he continued. "Remind me again about how we vote."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Blimey," he muttered, "every bleeding time."

Kinch snorted in amusement. "All right, Carter, listen up..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To list see the nominated stories go to: [https://papabearawards2019.weebly.com/the-stories.html](url)
> 
> You can find the voting form here: [https://papabearawards2019.weebly.com/voting.html](url)
> 
> Or you can vote via survey here (we suggest you have all your decision made before starting): [https://s.surveyplanet.com/DCgZo6fp4](url)
> 
> You may vote for up to 3 stories in each category. And you may vote for as many quotes as you wish. You don't have to vote in every category, you can just choose the ones that interest you! Votes are due Fri. April 5th.


	7. Chapter 7

With shaking hands, Schultz hurried into Barracks Two. The boys, as usual, were all seated around the table in the common room, including Colonel Hogan.

"Hiya, Schultz," Hogan greeted cheerfully.

"Colonel Hogan! You remember me!" Schultz cried in relief. "Oh, I am so glad you have your memory back already! Kommandant Klink is-"

"Hold it, Schultz, keep your shirt on," Hogan interrupted quickly."Of course I remember you- we met the other day."

"But if you're talking about the twenty years before that," Kinch added, "still no luck."

Schultz whimpered and flapped his arms. "Still no memories? Oh boy."

"We are still hoping the Papa Bear Awards will help him," LeBeau said.

"Right, the Papa Bear Awards. When will the winners be decided?" Schultz asked, hoping it would be soon.

"Voting closes on Friday, April 5th," Kinch replied.

"Friday, April 5th?" Schultz repeated. "But that is-" he quickly counted on his fingers- " over two weeks away! Oh this is terrible!"

"What's up, Schultz?" Carter asked.

"It's Kommandant Klink. He is convinced you prisoners are up to some monkey business!"

"All we're doing is reading stories for the Papa Bear Awards," Newkirk said with a nonchalant shrug.

"I know that, and you know that, but Kommandant Klink does not know that!" Schultz said. "He is doubling the guards and making me work double duty!"

LeBeau smirked in amusement. "Double duty? That just means double naps, does it not?"

"Haha, jolly joker."

"So what's the problem, Schultz?" Hogan asked. "None of us are planning on escaping, so there's nothing for Klink to find."

"Yes, but if he does not find something soon, he is going to call the Gestapo and they will find something! Especially if Colonel Hogan cannot make sure they won't find something. Because even though I know nothing, I know that there is something to be found!" Schultz cried.

Newkirk followed his complaints, wobbling his head slightly. "Blimey, did anyone follow that?"

Kinch sighed. "He's right, you know. We've got to do something to get Klink off our backs."

"Maybe we can tell him about the Papa Bear Awards?" Schultz asked hopefully. It really would solve a lot of problems.

"Oh sure. And what if he decides that there is some truth to all those stories?" LeBeau asked.

Schultz thought about that for a moment, but Carter beat him to the conclusion. "You'll have to find some snowshoes that fit, and I don't think they make them in your size, Schultz."

Schultz involuntarily shivered. "When will Colonel Hogan be able to read the winning stories?" he asked again, desperately.

"Voting closes Friday April 5th, so we should have the winners soon after that," Kinch repeated.

"I don't think Klink is going to wait two weeks for that," Hogan said, his brows furrowed. Suddenly they popped up. "I guess I'll just have to read all the stories now!"

"Read all 200 stories?" Newkirk said skeptically. "That'll take two weeks at least."

Carter suddenly jumped up. "Gee guys! You'd think with the way we're talking that we're completely helpless without Colonel Hogan!"

"I'm right here," Hogan said, somewhat sourly.

Carter looked a little sheepish, but continued. "You know what I mean. Come on, fellas! We're a team! If we put our heads together, we can come up with something."

The men, including Schultz, thought for a moment. Schultz couldn't think of anything, but felt a surge of relief when Kinch perked up. But his relief was quickly replaced with horror when he heard the suggestion.

"Why don't we stage an escape?" Kinch said coolly.

"An escape?" Schultz cried, not bothering to hide his panic.

"Just a fake one," Kinch assured him. "That way Klink will 'find' what he's looking for without calling the Gestapo."

"Oh, but it's sure to land one of us in the cooler for thirty days at least," Newkirk protested.

"Probably," Kinch shrugged. "Any volunteers?"

All the men suddenly became very interested in their belly buttons.

"Well I think," Newkirk finally drawled, "that since Carter got us into this mess, he should volunteer."

"Me?! What did I do?!" Carter cried indignantly.

"You were the one who concocted those bloody explosives. You said so yourself that they were stronger than you thought! If you had-"

"The nerve of this guy! You try to come up with something that can take down a whole-"

"Newkirk, why are you always volunteering someone else?" LeBeau cried, entering the debate.

"Because he can't-" Kinch started before Hogan stopped them all with a whistle.

"All right, hold it, hold it," he said, raising his hands in the air as he slowly got to his feet. "We all know whose fault this is. If it weren't for me, Klink wouldn't know anything was wrong. This is all my fault; I'll escape."

"We can't let you do that, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Yeah, it's not your fault. Newkirk's right, I should volunteer," Carter added.

"No, I'll do it. It's my job to keep you guys safe, isn't it?" Hogan said.

"Yeah, but-"

"Hey, I've got eagles on my collar, don't I?" Hogan said, cutting off all protests. "I may not remember everything, but I will remember if you disobey an order from your commanding officer."

The men looked at each other. "All right," Kinch finally said.

"But I'm going with you," Carter insisted.

"And that is my cue to leave," Schultz said hastily. He didn't want to know the details of their escape. He knew when the time came, they would make it look good, and make enough noise for even him to catch them. "I want to know nothing!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, everyone: Voting ends Friday, April 5th. As long as it is April 5th anywhere in the world, you can still cast your votes!


	8. Chapter 8

It was well after lights out when the team gathered together in the common room. An oil lamp lit their faces as they huddled around the table.

The plan was simple. Carter and Colonel Hogan would make an "escape", get caught, and that would hopefully throw off Klink's suspicions until the colonel regained his memory.

"Do you have everything you need?" LeBeau asked.

"Yep," Carter replied and tugged on his pack. There was a change of civilian clothes, some obviously forged documents, and a few other things to make the escape attempt look authentic.

"Sure do," Hogan echoed, pulling at his own pack strap.

"Stick to Carter like glue," Kinch ordered sternly.

"And when you get caught, let him do the talking," LeBeau added.

Suddenly Newkirk smacked his forehead and rubbed it. "Oh blimey, what are we thinking?! We're trusting Carter with this?"

"Hey!" Carter cried indignantly. "I know what I'm doing! I can botch an escape just as well as any of you!"

Newkirk shook his head then looked up looked up at the ceiling. "Bloody hell, we're all mad!"

"Well, I trust you, Carter," Hogan said.

"Now we know he is out of his head," LeBeau muttered to Newkirk.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Kinch said hesitantly. "You know you don't have to go with him, Colonel."

"Yes I do," Hogan insisted. "If I had my memory, I'd be able to keep Klink off our backs, and we wouldn't be in this mess. And if my memory doesn't come back, then I need to start pulling my weight around here."

"Sure, but even a fake escape attempt can be risky," Kinch pointed out.

"Aw c'mon guys!" Carter said. "I'll take good care of the Colonel. In fact-" Carter held up his wire cutters and then brought the handle down hard onto the colonel's head. Hogan dropped to the floor like a ton of bricks. The other men squawked in surprise.

"Carter! What the-" Kinch cried as he crouched down and checked Hogan over. "He's out cold."

"What were you thinking, Carter?" Newkirk demanded.

"I was thinking he's in no condition to go out with me, and if we tried to tell him to stay, he'd pull rank."

"So naturally your solution was to assault him," LeBeau drawled as he rolled his eyes.

"It'll keep him out of trouble!" Carter insisted. "Besides, maybe a smack on the head is just what he needs to get his memory back."

"Carter how many times do we have to tell you, head injuries don't work like that!" Newkirk said, exasperated.

"The only thing you did was give him a headache," Kinch grumbled. "If Klink doesn't throw you into the cooler tonight, the Colonel would!"

"And you will be in trouble with Wilson," LeBeau said darkly.

That made Carter flinch. "Oh, uh. You're not going to tell him, are you? Look, I'm sure the colonel will be fine and it's much safer this way." Carter tossed the wire clippers up and caught them before tucking it into his jacket. "I'd better go before he comes to."

"I'd wish you luck," Newkirk said, "but I'm not sure you deserve it!"

Carter clicked his tongue and hurried towards the door. Kinch and Newkirk hefted the colonel off the floor and held him between them, dragging him to his room.

"Good luck Carter," Newkirk said lowly. Carter nodded and then quickly ducked out the door.

The compound was quiet and the moon was barely a sliver in the sky. Under the cover of darkness, Carter dodged between the barracks, shying away from the spotlight as it swept over the camp. He couldn't get caught too early. If he could make it to the wire and maybe cut at it a bit, that would be perfect.

As he got closer to the wire, he heard Schultz huffing and puffing. Perfect. Schultz knew they were planning and escape, which meant he was less likely to be trigger happy. Not that Schultz kept his rifle loaded anyway.

Carter peeked out from behind a barracks wall and scanned the area. Sure enough, Schultz was making his rounds along the wire. Carter waited for him to just barely pass him and then scurried out and rushed to the wire. He swore he could have reached out and touched the back of Schultz's jacket as he passed, but the guard hadn't noticed him at all.

"Oh boy," he mock-whispered as he pulled out his wire cutters. "This has sure been easy so far." He made a show of opening the cutters and snapping one of the wires. "Yessiree, in a few hours I'll be all the way to Switzerland."

Carter looked over his shoulder, but Schultz was already well beyond hearing range. "Boy, what does it take for a guy to get caught escaping around here?" he huffed. Dropping his cutters, he crossed his arms over his chest and fell back against the wire. They shuddered and clanked, which drew a searchlight over, but it didn't fall directly over. It swept the area, somehow missing him, before turning back to its usual sweep. "How do you like that?! Newkirk should've wished me bad luck!"

Eventually, Schultz turned to come back his way. With exaggerated movements, and with no attempt to be quiet, Carter went back to cutting the wire. When Schultz walked past him again, Carter snorted. Well, so much for being subtle.

"Psst! Schultz! Schultz!"

Nothing.

Carter grimaced. Dropping down to one knee, Carter slipped his pack off his shoulder and rummaged through it. A moment later, he pulled out a covered plate of strudel. LeBeau had packed it just in case such a situation arose. Taking the lid off, he used it to waft the smell in Schultz's direction. Almost instantly, Schultz stopped in his tracks and began to look around. Carter quickly stuffed the plate back into his bag and noisily went about cutting the wire.

"What, where… Carter! Was ist los? Carter what are you doing-" Schultz cut himself off. He faced screwed up tightly for a moment before the proverbial light bulb went off. Quickly he grabbed his rifle and pointed it at Carter. "Achtung! Achtung! Prisoner escaping! Prisoner going over the wire!"

"Took you long enough!" Carter huffed before throwing his hands up in the air. The commotion drew the searchlight to him, and a few dogs barked before running up with their handlers. Carter stood motionless until Kommandant Klink finally made it out to inspect the situation.

"Ah-ha! Ah-ha! I knew you prisoners were up to something!" Klink cried. "You thought you were being clever! Thought you could lull me into complacency! Well! I was on to you the whole time!"

"Yes sir. Boy, there's no fooling you," Carter said humbly.

"When will you prisoners learn that no one escapes Stalag 13? No one!"

"I'm sure it'll stick eventually, sir."

"Well perhaps thirty days in the cooler will help it 'stick' in your head," Klink said as he stamped his foot. "Schultz, take him away!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant." Schultz slung his rifle over his shoulder and grabbed Carter's arm. "Into the cooler with you. Into the cooler!"

Carter let Schultz pull him along. When they were out of sight of the other guards, Schultz dropped his arm. "I think that fooled him," Schultz said.

"I think so too. Now he won't be sniffing around anymore and we can carry on with the PBAs in peace."

"Ja, but it is a shame you have to be in the cooler for thirty days," Schultz said with a tsk.

"Aw, it's okay. When the colonel gets his memory back, he'll talk Klink into letting me out." Provided, of course, that he wasn't still sore at him for smacking him over the head.

"The winners will be announced soon, won't they?"

"Yep. Voting ends on April 5th. The results will be posted soon after. And then the colonel will get to read the best stories, his memory will come back, and lickety-split I'll be a free man again!"

"Oh that will be nice. You will not have to wait long."

When they arrived at the cooler, Schultz grabbed Carter's bag and wire cutters, but paused before he opened the cell door. "Carter, is it just my imagination, or did I smell strudel earlier?"

"Had to get your attention somehow; you're terrible at your job! It's in the bag, Schultz."

Eagerly, Schultz opened the sac and rummaged through it. First he pulled out the fake papers. He scanned them and tsked. "Such shoddy workmanship," he scolded.

"It wasn't a real escape," Carter reminded him.

"Oh, ja. Hmmm." Schultz finally pulled out the strudel and practically giggled in delight. "Wunderbar!" He hesitated for a moment before handing a piece to Carter.

Carter accepted it with a grin. "Thanks, Schultz!"

"You are welcome. And now, into the cooler. In, in, in." Schultz bumped Carter with his hip, sending Carter stumbling into the cell. Then Schultz closed the heavy door and slowly marched off. It wouldn't do to report to the Kommandant too quickly with Carter's belongings. He had shared too much strudel already!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes folks, there are only TWO days before voting ends! You can still submit your votes via PM, email, or survey as long as it is April 5th somewhere in the world! Don't delay. Vote today! (Or tomorrow. Or Friday.) See chapters 6 for more information.


	9. Chapter 9

Carter decided that it was safer to stay in the cooler until the results for the PBAs were in. That way the others would be more concerned with announcing the winners than berating him for hitting Colonel Hogan over the head. Maybe they would forget completely. Or maybe that conk on the head had restored Colonel Hogan's memories and he would be the hero!

Or maybe they would get on his case anyway.

Anyway, on April 6th, Carter used pushed back the stone block covering the entrance and crawled out of the cooler and into the tunnels. He found the others, except Colonel Hogan, gathered around Kinch's radio, going through a bunch of papers.

"Hiya, fellas," Carter greeted. The others looked up at his arrival.

"Hey Carter. Enjoy your vacation?" Kinch asked.

Carter shrugged. "I wouldn't recommend the accommodations. On the other hand, the food was terrible. How's the colonel?" he asked tentatively, trying to tamp down his hope.

"He still thinks he's seventeen. He was madder than a wet hen when he found out you hit him on the head, but I think he's calmed down by now," Newkirk informed him.

"He is very excited that the votes are finally in," LeBeau added.

Carter let out a little sigh of relief. Well, his plan hadn't worked, but at least Colonel Hogan wasn't going to court martial him- for now anyway. "Boy, I'm excited too. I can't wait to know which stories won. I could plotz!"

LeBeau tugged on Newkirk's sleeve and leaned over to whisper, "Qu'est-ce que c'est 'plotz'?"

Newkirk raised an eyebrow. "I don't ruddy well know, mate. I think he's spent too much time in the cooler."

"All right," Kinch said, shaking his notepad in the air, "I think I have everything totalled."

The others eagerly leaned in. "Well? Which stories won? Don't dawdle, out with it!" Newkirk said.

Kinch cleared his throat and stood up. Carter patted the desk, providing a bit of a drumroll. "Thanks, Carter. And the winners are..."

The men broke out in applause after the winners were announced.

"Excellent!" LeBeau cheered. "Congratulations to all the winners of the 2019 Papa Bear Awards."

"Boy, there were sure some great stories this year, and I sure can't complain about the winners!" Carter added.

"Bloody good reads," Newkirk agreed. "For fiction," he added quickly, trying to cover his blush with a quick bout of coughing.

"A great year," Kinch said with a nod. "I guess we better get these stories to Colonel Hogan as soon as possible!"

"He's going to get his memory back in no time!" Carter said cheerfully.

"I'll post a list of the winners," Kinch said. "Newkirk, you and LeBeau take the stories to Colonel Hogan. And Carter? Back to the cooler. If Colonel Hogan does get his memory back he might decide to get you out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see the winners go here: [2019 PBA Winners](https://papabearawards2019.weebly.com/the-winners.html)  
> Due to site rules we are unable to post the winners in the story. Sorry, for the inconvenience.


	10. Chapter 10

The common room was quiet. A card game had broken out around the table, providing a small source of entertainment for some of the men. The others were occupying themselves with reading or rereading some of the past winners of the PBAs.

Colonel Hogan had been holed up in his office for the last day and a half. Every once in a while, LeBeau brought him some food, but other than that, the men only saw him during roll call.

A nervous sort of energy had settled on the men. Everyone was worried that their plan wouldn't work and Colonel Hogan would never get his memories back.

"Maybe we should get him to read the past winners," Newkirk suggested, tossing one of those winners onto the table, scattering some of the cards, much to the displeasure of the players. Newkirk held his hands up in surrender when they protested and threatened him. "Sorry, mates."

Blowing out a breath, Newkirk shoved his hands into his pockets and paced the room. "Blimey, what is taking him so long? How long does it take to read-" he quickly counted on his fingers- "a dozen stories."

"There's more than a dozen," Kinch said with a hint of amusement.

"He is being thorough," LeBeau said defensively. "This is serious business!"

"Sure, sure, but-"

Suddenly, Colonel Hogan's door opened and the man himself stepped out. Straightening his jacket, the colonel wordlessly grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. After taking a long drink, he wiped off his lips, and flicked his cap up.

"Colonel-" Kinch started.

"Carter still in the cooler?" Hogan asked.

"Yes sir," Kinch replied.

"Okay. I'll be back." And with that, Colonel Hogan left the barracks. The men looked at each other and then scrambled to the door to watch where he was heading. After concluding he was heading for Klink's office, they practically fell over each other trying to get to his office to listen in on the bug.

They gathered around Hogan's desk, plugged in the coffee pot and waited. A moment later they were rewarded with the sound of Fraulein Helga announcing Colonel Hogan's arrival to Colonel Klink.

"Colonel Hogan, I am very busy," Klink said sourly.

"I'll be quick Kommandant," Hogan said. The men heard a noise that could only be Klink stomping his foot, and they imagined it was in response to Hogan tossing his cap onto Klink's helmet.

LeBeau grinned and elbowed Newkirk. "He is back."

"Maybe," Newkirk said flatly, not willing to get his hopes up.

"It's about Carter," Hogan continued.

"Excellent. I wanted to talk to you about that," Klink said sweetly. Suddenly there was another sound, as if Klink had just smacked his desk. "Colonel Hogan, do you expect me to believe that was supposed to be a real escape?" Klink said accusingly.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" Hogan asked innocently.

"You and your men have been silent for weeks. Weeks! And that lame attempt at an escape is all you have to show for it? That was just a distraction to throw me off your trail! The real escape is still coming!"

Colonel Hogan let out a long sigh. "Colonel, do me a favour a look out that window." There was a pause. "Tell me what you see."

"I see prisoners," Klink replied.

"Broken men. Colonel, how many escape attempts have there been at Stalag 13?"

"Over three hundred. And not one of them has been successful!" Klink boasted.

"Exactly! You're too clever for us, Colonel Klink. Over three hundred escapes. We've tried over. We've tried under. We even tried sneaking out as little old ladies! Nothing has worked- nothing! Do you know how humiliating that is?!"

"No one will ever escape Stalag 13!"

"We know that, sir! We know that! But we thought maybe, just maybe, if we really, really planned our next escape that it would have a sliver of a chance of succeeding. We spent weeks- weeks- going over ever single detail. We weren't going to leave anything to chance!"

"And it still failed," Klink crowed.

"Well, we made one mistake," Hogan said sadly.

"You underestimated the Iron Eagle!" Klink cried.

"No way, sir. We know how firm and tough you are about security. We planned for that."

"So what was your mistake?" Klink asked curiously.

"We sent Carter," Hogan said flatly.

Klink snorted. "That dummkopf!"

"He was the only volunteer, Kommandant! Everyone else has too much sense to try and escape; you've bested us too many times."

"You're finally learning," Klink said, sounding very satisfied with the way the conversation was going.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, About Carter. Why don't you let him out?" Hogan asked.

"But you said so yourself that he hasn't learned that escape is impossible! He ought to stay in the cooler until he does!"

"But that's the thing- he never will. You said so yourself that he is a dummkopf. But because he's a dummkopf, he'll never successfully escape, no matter how hard he tries. What can it hurt to let him out, even if he tries again?" There was a pause. "Colonel, he's our Schultz."

"In that case... All right, all right. Carter is free to go. But try to get it through that thick skull of his that escape is impossible!"

"I will, sir. I certainly will."

With a satisfied smile, Kinch unplugged the coffeepot. "Sounds like the Colonel is back."

"He certainly played Klink like a violin!" Newkirk agreed cheerfully.

"You don't think he was a little harsh on Carter?" Kinch asked.

LeBeau laughed. "Oh, he is probably still sore about getting hit on the head. Carter is a goof, but he is no Schultz!"

"I have a feeling Carter is going to be on KP for a while," Kinch laughed.

"Never! I will kill first!" LeBeau cried indignantly, eliciting a laugh from the other two men.

It wasn't long until Colonel Hogan arrived in his office, followed by Carter. "Colonel!" the men greeted brightly. "You're back!"

"Yeah, I'm back," Hogan said with a grin.

"Boy, am I glad you got me out of the cooler!" Carter said happily.

At that, Hogan scrunched his nose. "Yeah, you're welcome. But I'm seriously considering wearing a combat helmet when I'm around you."

Carter looked sheepish. "I'm sorry about that, Colonel. I really thought it would help to bring your memory back."

"What actually brought it back, Colonel?" Kinch asked curiously ."Which story?"

Hogan scratched the back of his neck. "Well, all of them. A little bit. My memory started coming back little by little the more I read, but-"

"But?"

"Well, to be honest, the thing that pushed me over the edge was... Crittendon!"

"Crittendon?" the confused men asked in unison.

Hogan almost laughed. "Yeah. The more I read about him, the more scared I got! I knew that if he ever came to camp, I'd have to have all my wits about me to avert complete and utter disaster and-" Hogan snapped his fingers- "that did the trick!"

The men shared a good laugh. "Who would have thought that Crittendon would be our saving grace!" Kinch roared.

Hogan held up his hands. "All right, all right. Honestly, all the stories were really good. In fact, I think I may read through all them again now that I can actually enjoy them for what they are."

"You know what, I think I may just join you," Kinch said.

"Moi aussi," LeBeau agreed.

"Count me in!" Carter chirped.

"Hey mates, let's have another round of applause for the winners of the 2019 Papa Bear Awards!" Newkirk cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO THE WINNERS OF THE 2019 PAPA BEAR AWARDS
> 
> CONGRATULATIONS!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who nominated and/or voted.
> 
> And a very special thanks to the PBA Committee! Thank-you for all your hard work!
> 
> Crittendon pushing Hogan over the edge is a reference to a much older story (and winner in various categories of the 2008 PBAs), Deja Vu Near Uijeongbu


End file.
